Into The Ocean
by dnrl
Summary: When Poseidon met Sally. A story of love and the growth of a woman because of it.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

...I am a horrible person and should be shot. -sob-

I am so, so sorry for doing this to you people. However, since it IS summer, I've worked out a schedule:

I will update all of my major stories (i.e. this and _It Takes Two_) on a monthly basis, and the chapters will be LONG.

As for my drabble stories (i.e. _Bittersweet Symphony_ and _Fall Into The Sky_), I'll probably update twice - three times monthly. Hopefully.

So yeah.

I'm a hopelessly devoted sheep to Mr. Riordan and his books, and I've decided to follow in the safety of the flock and so a "when Sally met Poseidon" story. I am _praying_ that I actually make this a decent work of crap instead of my horrid works of crap that I also write...-sniffle-

Anyway, please feel free to comment on any errors you can find, cannonical, grammatical, algebraical, whatever. Let me know and I'll do my darndest to either explain it or fix it or both. Whatever. It works.

See you at the end of the chap.

- dnrl

* * *

**Into The Ocean**

_by: dnrl_

* * *

Chapter One: Calling You

* * *

_Her skirt could double as a wide belt._

_Her shirt is made of spandex._

_Her pants are made of Saran Wrap._

_Is that a shirt or a bikini top?_

I rested my chin in my hands, my elbows set on the clear glass countertop of the cosmetics display as I watched the parade go by. Long, gloriously tanned legs, flattened stomachs, "screw-me" stilettoes, tiny skirts, overdone makeup, and enough perfume to kill an elephant. Honestly, what were they trying to accomplish?

I watched several men drop what they were holding, two teenage boys spout identical nosebleeds, and watched a few mouths fall open. Well. That answered me, didn't it?

I pushed back an errant, wispy brown curl from my forehead, ignoring the stupid wish in the back of my mind that I could have the glistening golden curls that Mr. Hefner's (1) pack over there possessed. Or their body. Or their ability to look good in anything. I sighed and attempted to drag the thought to the back of my mind, pummel it soundly, and toss it into the box with all of my other useless dreams.

"Excuse me."

I looked up to find a tall man staring down at me. He was ruggedly handsome, a dark goatee curling around his mouth. His Grecian profile glowed in the light; he looked like the pictures in my history book - the ones of Adonis and Apollo and Eros. Incredible, that's the word. He wore khaki shorts and a light, beach-going shirt. His skin was tan, his fingers calloused and strong-looking as they tapped against the glass surface of the counter.

I was suddenly even more aware of my awkward body, still not past adolescant stages even though I was nearly eighteen, and of the unflattering way it was crammed into my stuffy cosmetics uniform. I felt the curl creep back onto my forehead, and I could sense my hair frizzing in its braid behind me.

See, Sally, this is where low self-esteem puts you in life.

"Yes, sir. How may I help you?"

He looked me up and down, almost like an item he was appraising for value. "I'm looking for a gift...a nice present for a woman who caught my eye. Any suggestions? Price is no object."

I bit my lip, thinking, trying to ignore his eyes on me. Green eyes, beautiful green eyes - who had green eyes? People in books, fictional characters, figments of my imagination. Oh, god, if this was another hallucination...

"Well, is she romantic or sensible?"

"She strikes me as a sensible type."

"Alright, then. Something nice, something that would remind her of you, but something that's not a nuisance. Does she use any special brand of make-up?"

"I don't think that she wears make-up, actually," he said, looking sheepish. I blinked.

"...then what on earth are you doing in Cosmetics?" I clapped my hand over my mouth and blushed. He laughed. "I'm so, so sorry! I mean, um, well, maybe you should try, ah, the Sear-Roebuck down the street, um, for a better gift - "

His laughter wound down to quiet chuckles and he beamed at me. "Your honesty is a light in the darkness of deception so common in sales," he told me, his eyes smiling along with his face. He had an amazing smile. "But really. I want something expensive, but not flamboyant, so jewelery and fancy clothes are out."

"Cashmere sweaters are - "

"Not her style," he supplied.

"Then what _is _her style?"

"I was thinking a nice perfume, perhaps. Any personal favorites?"

I blinked. Sensible, no make-up, unflamboyant. "Yes, actually. I'll be right back," I told him.

A friend of mine, Alice, had worked with me for a while. One day, when business was slow, we had decided "our scents." We'd never be able to afford them, but we chose them anyway, because they reminded us of _us_. She had chosen one called _Heavenly_, some kind of concoction that smelled like lilac and lavendar. I had chosen something else - the scent I was going to recommend to the customer.

I brought it out in a small bottle and let him sample it. He smiled softly as he breathed it in. "Yes, I like this. It's...soft. Sweet."

"It's always been a favorite of mine," I told him, smiling at his smile. He shot me an inquisitive glance. "It reminds me of...happier times," I replied evasively. _It reminds me of my mother._ But some things are better left unsaid, after all.

"I'll take the largest bottle you have."

I blinked. "But sir, this perfume is quite expensive. If you'd like, I could - "

He shook his head. "Money," he said quietly, leaning forward, "is no object."

I nodded, glad I didn't have to speak. I would have stammered, because I had just caught a waft of his scent. He smelled of a seashore breeze - sunshiney and light, salty and sweetness. It was a heady scent, better than any of our perfumes. I scurried to get him the large bottle, rang him up, and gave it to him in a bag.

"I'll wrap it myself," he said, grinning. "I think personal touches are nice with gifts like this."

I saw him about five minutes later, deep in discussion with Christine, my manager. Hopefully he wasn't telling her about my blunder - I really couldn't handle another Christine-lecture at the moment.

* * *

After a few more hours of tedious work (a few women from the possee came to view the makeup), I punched out, waved hello to Juliet, my replacement, and made my way back to the apartment I shared with my uncle. My ailing, moaning, endlessly complaining, broke uncle.

I was jostled to and fro on the subway, nearly thrown to the ground on the platform, and splashed with filthy rainwater from two days ago when a couple on a motorcycle sped by the curb. Cursing quietly to myself, I discovered that my key was nowhere to be found, meaning that I would have to ring the doorbell. This meant my uncle would have to get up, which meant that he would feel that I was entitled to an extra day of moaning and groaning. Marvelous.

I left the elevator with baby spit-up down my front and lasagna sauce down my back, smiling and waving the apologies of the guilty parties aside. They really were nice people, and it wasn't their fault that my bad luck was so monumentally horrible that it spilled over onto them.

I blew the wisps of my mousy hair out of my face, raising my hand to knock on the door - when a package sitting neatly beside the door caught my eye. It was about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in intricately worked gold leaf wrapping paper, tied with a gorgeous green-gray bow. On the silver tag were the words, "To Miss Jackson," written in a beautiful handwriting.

I blinked stupidly at the package for a moment before sliding the bow and tag off and gently easing the paper off of the box. It was plain and white, with no markings to indicate the contents. My heart began to pound as I lifted off the lid, and it burst into a full out sprint when I spied the gift.

There, in the middle of the hallway, covered in baby vomit and lasagna, I sat down, the box cradled in my lap. Nestled inside on a bed of plush silk was the large bottle of "my scent" with a slip of paper tied to the top. There was a number written there.

_Call me,_ it said.

After giving my uncle his medication and showering, I sat in the dimly lit kitchen, nursing a bowl of Campbell's soup that night at around seven. The box, paper, bow, and perfume sat across the round table, staring at me. The number lay in one hand - the phone in the other.

"To call or not to call...that is the question." I felt a soft rubbing at my bare feet, and a rumbling ran up my calves. "What do you think, Duke?"

Archduke Franz Ferdinand, an alleycat who had somehow migrated into my apartment, leapt from the floor to the chair to the table, where he proceeded to devour my soup. I frowed at him, but didn't stop him. "Well, you're just maddeningly unhelpful."

He paused to shoot me a disdainful look before returning to massacreing my soup. I watched the vegetables flee from him with mild amusement and some frustration. "I planned to finish that, you know. Oh well."

The little slip of paper with his phone number was hot in my hand, like holding a tiny bonfire. I ran my fingers over the numbers, half-expecting my flesh to sear off of my bones. I'd never had a man give me anything before, much less something of this caliber.

Part of me was whispering that if I called him I was no better than those Saran-wrapped, bikini-wearing girls in the store - a golddigger, a two-bit woman who was only looking for a rich man. _Attractive young woman seeks rich elderly companion._ Another part told me that every girl wanted attention - here mine was. Was I going to pass it up?

Yet another part (was I schizo?) wondered exactly how he had gotten my number, and if he was just yanking the chain of the Plain Jane at the make-up counter. Wouldn't be the first time I was the butt of the joke. There were so many things, so many insecurities building up in my mind...I was too fat in some places, too skinny in others, too all-around plain for any man (especially him) to look at me like that. My hair was mousy and brown, my eyes a plain hazel-ish sort of color. He was beautiful - nearly perfect. Godlike.

I called him anyway.

* * *

"No way."

_"Way."_

"I don't believe you."

It was one thirty in the morning. I was sitting in our ancient claw-footed bathtub, my toes a newly-painted shade of cheap purple. My left hand curled brown hair around my fingers, while in my right I held the cracked white portable phone. A smile played around the corners of my mouth, and I could hear it in his voice when he talked.

His name was Poseidon - like the sea god in Greek mythology. He said his mom had had a lot to do with mythology. I shrugged it off - stranger things have happened. He loved the ocean, incidentally - wanted to be a marine biologist. He was twenty, he said, two years older than I was. His favorite color was green, his favorite sport was volleyball, and he had two brothers, both younger, and three sisters.

"So wait, what happened to your nephew? The guitarist."

_"Oh, him? He wound up chasing after this girl...sad, really. Unrequited love. He got a bit obsessed for a while, but he's gotten better. It's been a few years."_

I barely suppressed a yawn, and he caught it. I heard him chuckle.

_"That's the fifth one, Sally. You have to rest."_

"No kidding," I said. "I have work in..." I glanced at the clock and cursed. "Four hours."

_"Four hours?! What the hell are you doing working at five thirty in the morning? The sun himself spits on that time."_

"I'm an early-shift lifeguard at this hotel downtown," I told him, carding through my curls.

_"...Sally, how many jobs do you have?"_

"Um...three?"

_"...Okay, yeah. I've gotta get you out of there. Listen - summer's coming up, right? Two days. Why don't you take them off? I'll hire a sitter for your uncle, and we can go somewhere - "_

I cut him off, a bit wary. "Look, Poseidon - you're a great guy and all, and I really like you. A lot. But I can't just leave my uncle alone like that - I mean, I dropped out for him. I won't just leave him with a sitter...and..." I took the next part slowly, not wanting to offend. "I don't really know you. I mean, you pretty much stalked me - taking my address from my manager, buying me gifts before you knew my name...for all I know, you could be a mad axe-murderer, and...and I'm totally handling this wrong." I sighed and closed my eyes. "I don't know you. At all. Not even a last name. Maybe...if I could get to know you more...that could work. It would be okay. But until then..."

He paused, and I wondered what was running through his head. Was he going to decided that I wasn't an easy lay - that I wasn't worth it? Then he laughed, and the shadows flew from my mind. _"I get you, Sally. I'm sorry - I expected too much too soon. I got a bit carried away, you know? I guess that's what happens when people elope or whatever. Look...you have any plans tomorrow besides work?"_

"Um, no. I have off from my other job tomorrow, so once it hits twelve I'm a free woman," I said. "I don't have to be back here until six."

_"Great. So, um..." _He sounded nervous, and I heard him lick his lips. _"Would you mind if we caught some lunch? I could come pick you up..."_

I heard the note of hesitancy in his voice, and I smiled. Sunshine was glowing inside of my chest, a warm and soft feeling. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that."

* * *

A/N ...

I'm so, so, so sorry.

Here. If you actually read this shit, have a cookie. Have a truckload of cookies, and chocolate, and cake. And coffee, if you want it.

Please review with critique/constructive criticism/questions.

Thanks very much! See you soon!

- dnrl


	2. Chapter 2

A/N

Hah. Ahah. –ducks for cover-

I'm…really, really sorry. I know that I shouldn't make excuses, but I've just been so…so totally uninspired with _everything_ for the past FOREVER. My poor little novels are wasting away in My Documents folder, and my fics are languishing, crying out, "WHY AREN'T YOU UPDATING ME? D:"

I've felt really dried up lately – I couldn't even force anything out, which is my usual cure for fixing my blocks (which come with alarming frequency, sadly). But I think I've found a temporary cure: I just played with my baby cousin for two days, and I feel…inspired. Creative. So I'm taking advantage of the moment and writing the second chapter to a fic that I don't like, but apparently you guys do. THAT'S RIGHT; FEEL THE LOVE. I WRITE FOR YOU PEOPLE. And after this, I'm going straight into writing the next _It Takes Two_ (which I'm actually excited about), and then another one for _Fall Into The Sky _and _Bittersweet Symphony_…and then I'll take care of my novels. -_- Freaking hell, man. I do way to much of this writing thing.

So, without further digression, I give you…

* * *

**Into The Ocean**

_by: dnrl

* * *

_

Chapter Two: 32 Flavors

* * *

Despite Poseidon's jabs at my early work hours (and despite getting only four hours of sleep the night before), I have to admit that I loved my work. Not that sitting intermittently on a stand from five thirty in the morning to noon (that's roughly six and a half hours, in case you were wondering) is totally exciting or anything.

I had friends at this job – other kids in college, a year or two older than I was. It wasn't a very big hotel, an independently owned maverick of a bed-and-breakfast that had made a name for itself as a good, moderately priced hotel among the giant expensive corporations. We joked around, had fun, sometimes even played with the kids in the pool when we rotated. It was a good job.

I was always the first to get there on Fridays like today, because, as Carolyn (a friend on the job) told me, "You're the only freak that likes to get up early." And I was, but not because I was energetic or anything. I've always loved watching the sunrise – and from the lifeguard's chair on the rooftop by the pool, the view is amazing. Not to mention on the mornings when the hallucinations came in…

My hallucinations. I had had them for as long as I could remember – strange things that no one else could see, that were something else to everyone but me. The last person I had told about them had been my grandmother, my Gigi, right before she died. I was sitting with her that night – I must've been five or so. I looked up from our joined hands and started in surprise – a man in a tracksuit was hovering in the door. Literally hovering. He stood a foot or so off the ground, his sandals making a whirring noise like a hummingbird. He was checking a strange glowing device he held in his palm.

"Gigi!" I hissed. "A man! A flying man!"

She had looked to the doorway with her cataract-laden eyes and smiled. "Ah, and so the Messenger god comes for me at last. As I thought." She looked at me and smiled. "It has been so long since I have seen what I was not meant to see – and you have that same curse now, my Sally-doll. Take care of it, and tell no one until _you_ deem it right. It will aid you, one day. I promise this."

And then she was gone – and so was the man in the doorway.

I forced the memories away from the front of my mind as I walked up the dimly lit, somewhat damp stone staircase. My sandals made sharp snapping sounds as the slapped back into my heels with every step, and the sounds resounded along the ten flights of steps. My towel was slung across my shoulder, rasping against the red material of my one piece. I reached the metal door at the top of the stairs, unlocked it, and shoved against the wind to open it.

A gust of sweet, clean air rushed at me, blowing the wisps of curls away from my face. The horizon was growing lighter as the dawn approached, and I let myself have a carefree smile. I crossed the porch to my stand and heaved myself up onto the cushioned wooden seat. I looked out over the New York skyline, watching as the clouds slowly took on the ever-changing hues of the sun. As I looked, I saw something – larger than any bird, and with four legs and a head that looked suspiciously equine – swoop across the clouds, skimming them with wings as white as paper. It was joined by more of its kind – a black one, and a grey.

_Pegasi_.

The thought crossed my mind unbidden, and I frowned, shoving it away. I was doing that a lot lately. Maybe I did need a break.

Still, as I watched those strange creatures soar in wide loops and gentle curves across the ever-lightening sky, I couldn't help another smile that broke free. Somehow, seeing things like this – no matter how few and far between these sweet sights were – more than made up for the terrifying spectacles of giant one-eyed men, or strange half-men that roamed the streets every day. Things like these pegasi – my mind gave in - made the sight that I had bearable.

The sun rose in the distance, slowly, glinting off the glass of the skyscrapers that surrounded me like giant redwoods tower over a poplar tree. I watched as the shadows fell away and the pegasi wheeled away to someplace else, a universe hidden from even my eyes. The sun began its ascent into the high blue vault of the sky, and I turned my attention to the door that swung open. A squealing pack of children, five or six in number, the eldest no more than five, ran out onto the rooftop, followed by harried looking parents.

"No running near the pool," I called out, laughing as they froze in unison and tiptoed the rest of the way into the water.

I let the laughter linger on my face, in my smile, as the little ones in the water wings waddled around the shallows, splashing and shrieking, utterly happy in the world that they saw, content in the knowledge that they were loved.

* * *

"Shut up shut up _shut up_!"

I laughed shyly, hiding my bright red face in my towel as I dried my hair. Carolyn sat on the bench beside my locker, staring at me in fascination as I pulled on my jeans.

"Sally Shyness got a _date_?" she said, grinning. "You _go_, girl!"

I rolled my eyes, my cheeks still as red as the strawberries on my shampoo bottle. "Shut up, Carolyn." I threw my towel at her. "It's not a date – not nominally, anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "Sally, nobody actually uses nominally in a sentence anymore, but I'll use obsolete words to humor you. See, that whole 'not really a date because no one called it a date' thing is pure semantics. See, ha, I used semantics in a real sentence. Do I get bonus points?"

"You get an imaginary cookie and my pity," I told her. "And _nominally_ is not obsolete. And it's _not_ a date. He's taking me out to lunch. That's all."

"After he offered to steal you away for a weekend vacation. And gave you his phone number – oh, did I forget the _six hundred dollar_ _bottle of perfume_ he sent you? I'm pretty sure that this is a date, sweetheart."

"No," I insisted, "it's not. It's a pity lunch for the poor girl behind the cosmetics counter."

My towel thwapped me soundly on the back of my head. "Get your head out of the Gutter of No Self-Esteem, child," Carolyn scolded, standing up. "You're cute, Sal. You have these." She pinched my breasts, ignoring my squeal of protest. Carolyn does these things, and really doesn't care what other people have to say about them. "And a certain air of womanly charm and intelligence about you. Men like that. Men want to date you. The only reason you haven't been asked before is because they're afraid they won't measure up, or they think that you already have a guy because there is _no way_ a woman like you could be single. Okay? Okay. It's a _date_, love. Get the hell over it and have fun. And you're not wearing that top."

"Why? It's comfortable. And also, if you want me to have fun, then _don't_ tell me it's a date. Do you not remember what I told you about my last date?"

"But it doesn't show off your adorable little waist. And yes, I do remember. But you've gotten much better with your shyness since sophomore year in high school, honey. Trust me. Ah, here we go."

"Isn't that Maria's?"

"She owes me; she got ketchup on my sweater. Here – if we tie it right here, you look beautimous."

"I look like a sl – "

"Sally Clair Jackson, if you finish that sentence I will hurt you. I love this top."

I sighed and accepted my fate, feeling ridiculous. I was wearing some comfortable brown close-toed sandals, my jeans covering my exposed heels. They were my oldest pair, with a hole at one of the knees, and they had the stonewashed effect. They weren't actually stonewashed, as I had had to explain to the multiple commenters on the excellence of the effect. They were just four years old. To top off the outfit, I had planned on wearing a grey "New York Aquarium" t-shirt with a nice long-sleeved white shirt under it.

Not this…thing. It was a tightly corseted white stiff thing with flaring sleeves and a weird collar that poked and prodded me. Ow.

Carolyn glanced at her watch and said a few choice words. "Gotta go, lovely. Let me know how your not-date-that's-really-a-date goes, okay?"

"Okay."

I waited until her footsteps waited before tearing off Maria's shirt, putting it back in her locker, and cramming my head through my comfortable grey tee.

I believe in passive-aggressive resistance to uncomfortable fashion. So sue me.

* * *

I stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Blinked.

Stared a bit more.

"That," I said finally, "is an incredibly nice car."

Poseidon chuckled from where he sat behind the wheel. The car was low slung – it looked like you would have to fall into the seats. He was looking up at me with a devious grin. "You don't really strike me as one who knows much about cars, Sally."

"Oh, I'm not," I answered. "I just know an insane amount of money when I see it."

He laughed. "I did tell you," he said, "that I came from an old family."

"You might've mentioned the old money."

"Yes, well, I assumed you knew that it sort of came with the package."

I shot him a look and crossed to the passenger side. I did indeed have to drop into the seat, and I had the feeling I'd have to climb out, but it was worth it. It was a _nice_ car – and I wasn't one to notice these things.

I looked over at Poseidon after buckling, and found his green storybook eyes staring back at me. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah. Um. Where are we going, exactly?" I asked with a nervous laugh as he pulled away from the curb and merged flawlessly into the New York traffic.

"I know this little place, right out on the waterfront – it's a really nice open-air restaurant, and it's got a built-in park and mini-zoo. I figured that you liked animals from what you said about cats and stuff last night, so I hope you don't mind…" he trailed off. I smiled.

"That sounds really cool."

"Sweet."

I shrieked and grabbed onto the armrests suddenly as he swerved magically through three lanes of speeding traffic to get to the turning lane. He laughed happily, like a kid given a new toy. "Did I scare you?"

"Are you absolutely insane? We could've been killed!"

"But we weren't. And you got a thrill, getting away with it." He looked at me with a boyish happiness lighting up his face. A devilish smile was mismatched with eager, innocent eyes.

I let my heart hammer in my ears as the adrenaline rush slowly faded before exhaling in a huge gust of air. "Maybe," I said, fighting back a giddy smile. "Yeah."

* * *

"This isn't a _little place_," I said, emphasizing the words with air quotes.

"Compared to other structures, yes, it is," Poseidon persisted stubbornly, taking a sip of lemonade from my glass. I swatted him away from my straw.

"What other structure are you comparing it to, the Taj Mahal?"

He stuck his tongue out at me and turned to face the ocean.

A briny wind swept across the wooden deck, my hair fluttering about my face. We stood on the outside portion of the "little place" Poseidon had referred to earlier – a place that was bigger than my old house, my new apartment building, and the department store I worked in combined.

Despite its size, it wasn't pretentious – it displayed itself proudly for what it was: a place where somebody could eat, cavort, and make merry while looking at beautiful views. It was a bizarre collection of modern and medieval architecture, with some pioneer thrown in there for good measure.

I loved it.

The workers at the restaurant seemed to know Poseidon fairly well, welcoming him with smiles and gracious greetings all around. The maître'd had handed us two menus and passed us off to a waiter, who brought us to a beautiful little park which apparently doubled as a petting zoo. He'd brought us our drinks, taken our orders, and told us that we were free to roam and would be fetched when our dinners were ready (which made me feel like an adult and a child at the same time, which is rather bizarre).

We wandered aimlessly around the park-zoo for a while, staring in awe at the various animals that appeared. We had fed the ducks by the pond and waved from a distance at the intelligent-looking monkeys in their cages (only to be petted when a handler was present) when we came across the peacocks.

Poseidon fairly jumped behind me when we saw them, as if he were afraid of being spotted. I laughed and bent to stroke a silky avian head. The silly bird strutted and preened from my attentions, his beautiful tail waving in response to me. Behind me, Poseidon gave a slight laugh.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to steal my date away from me." He slid his arms around my waist from behind me as I stood up, nuzzling the side of my neck innocently. My breath caught in my throat for a moment. _Date_. I laughed, a breathy sound, as his nose slid gently up the side of my neck, stopping right below my earlobe. I could feel his breath on the corner of my jaw, his top lip just brushing my skin. I shivered.

I had no way of telling where it would have gone after that moment, because just then a female peacock let out a loud squawk and charged straight for Poseidon from behind. Almost simultaneously, a server appeared from nowhere to summon us to our meal. I gasped as Poseidon swatted the bird away from him, and the server had to come forward to get the peacock off of his trousers.

My eyes wandered to the small hole in the back of the material and I smiled to myself.

"Stop making fun of me, Sally Jackson," Poseidon said firmly, his eyes dancing. I blushed at being caught and laughed happily, turning back to the beautiful view of the sea. They had seated us on a wooden deck that protruded from the side of the restaurant. We sat at a little wood table, dark and carefully carved and smelling of the sea.

Poseidon glanced at his watch and smiled. "Almost time."

My brows furrowed. "I swear, if you've got somebody who's going to sing at our table, I will shoot you."

He choked as he took a deep sip of his water. "No, no, not that. Although I _will_ have to remember to do that for you sometime." I shot him a Look. He seemed unfazed and instead looked back out at the water. "There was a reason I came to the particular restaurant – not that the good food and the petting zoo weren't enough," he added with a brief grin. "There's this really cool aquatic display that goes on at around two – completely natural, no special effects or anything. So I had to time it right, and it worked out."

I was about to ask what it was when he motioned for me to stand. I did, and he mirrored me before circling the table to bring me to the railing. He took me in his arms from behind again and together we bent over the rail to peer into the dark blue-green-gray water below us. It was clear, which was unusual; I could see the sandy bottom, littered here and there with seaweed.

"Watch," Poseidon whispered in my ear. I shivered, and then gasped as a brightly colored fish darted out into the ocean. "Keep looking," he said. Slowly, slowly, a mass migration of the same kind of fish occurred – thousands of tiny fish colored like the sunrise in hues of red and gold and orange. Some came to the surface, skipping over the face of the water; others swam deep and long, shooting up furrows of billowing sand. As I watched, bottom-feeders slowly surfaced and joined the migration, skimming the sandy floor of the water.

It was incredible – a movement of color, like a rippling sunrise rainbow in the water, like plunging a used paintbrush into a cup of liquid and watching is disperse in that strange focused yet hazy fashion. It was made all the more intense by the realization that I was sharing this feeling with this strange and new man that held me so gently from behind – a realization that wasn't really unpleasant, when I really looked at it.

I felt his mouth brush the side of my face like the fish brushed the ocean floor, and the colors of the sunrise bloomed in my cheeks.

* * *

A/N

Have I appeased you? D:

No?! **D:**

Anyway.

More ficcage coming up soon, I promise. Oh, and also, for anybody who catches why the peacocks attacked Poseidon, you can have a cookie and eternal pwnage. I'll tell the rest of you who don't know next chapter. :)

See you guys later!

(No, really, I mean it.)

((NO, REALLY.))

- dnrl


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